


The Ben and Annie Universe

by thatcrazywriterley



Series: Anthea Gattis Chronicles [3]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sequel, Smut, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatcrazywriterley/pseuds/thatcrazywriterley
Summary: A series of one shot stories that are connected to the When I'm Gone universe and tell the story of the life Annie had with Ben.





	1. When Life Takes a Turn

_Two years after _When I’m Gone

I felt the mattress dip as Benedict slid into the bed behind me. His arms slid around my waist, his fingers lingering slightly on my stomach. Benedict’s breath was warm on the back of my neck as he pressed his lips against my skin. I felt the dampness on his cheeks and knew he’d been crying just as much as I had. He hugged me close.

“I’m so sorry, Annie,” Benedict whispered against my shoulder. His voice cracked. The wet warmth of his tears drained over my shoulder and across the back of my neck. “I’m so sorry.”

My whole body quivered with exhaustion and sadness. I wanted to drag myself under a rock and stay there. One hand tucked beneath my cheek, I pressed the other against Benedict’s as they were splayed out over my belly. His skin was warm and soft beneath my fingers as he squeezed me back against him.

I whimpered, half in pain, half in agony deep in my soul. Benedict’s body went rigid behind me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he chanted, moving to pull his hands away.

“No!” I wailed, clutching tight to his arm. Tears poured down my cheeks as I curled my body together around his arms as they were wrapped around me. “No. No. Please don’t leave me.”

Benedict made a sound that was like something that would come out of a wounded animal. The bed shook as my husband cried behind me. I could feel his shoulders rising and falling as he sobbed over the loss we’d suffered. We cried together, thinking about the tiny life that we’d made and lost. I was quickly losing all the strength in my body and the fire in my soul was pouring into the air around me.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” I chanted the words over and over, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the memories. My voice got progressively louder as the words tumbled past my teeth and dripped from the end of my tongue, morphing and changing as the world spun beneath me. “I want her back! I want my baby! Ben, I want her. I want her.”

He clutched me tighter, his mouth and his tears warm against the side of my neck. His voice was soft and broken in my ear. “I know, love. I know. I’m so sorry, my darling. I’d do anything to fix it. Anything.”

I quickly found myself with my forehead pressed against my knees. Benedict’s arms were tight around my middle, anchoring me to reality. “I want to be with her.” The words were a wailing cry tearing out of my throat.

Benedict curved his body around mine. His cheek was pressed against my back in between my shoulder blades. His words were muffled in my shirt. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I can’t lose you. Don’t, Annie. Don’t. Please.”

I clutched at the sheets beneath me, dug my fingernails into my palms until I could feel nothing but the pain of it. Horrible, wracking sobs burst out of my body. I had never felt that empty, that completely lost in my life.

Slowly, Benedict worked me out of my bowed position. He turned me around in his arms and pulled me against his body. My head rested on his chest, my fingers wrapped themselves in the shirt over his stomach. A dark spot of moisture grew in a wide circle beneath my cheek as I cried. Benedict’s arms were tight around my back and one hand stroked fingers through my tangled hair.

“I love you, Annie,” he whispered against the top of my head. I wanted those words to sink into my skin and heal my heart like they used to. But they didn’t. My heart was empty and quiet, scooped out and hollow after my baby girl had died inside me.

_Benedict’s POV_

I held my wife in my arms and listened to her tears, terrified to my core that I couldn’t do anything to stop them. Annie was curled against my chest with her hands bunched tight in my shirt. The fabric over my heart was stuck to my skin with her tears. I ran my fingers through her hair slowly, loosening the tangles that snarled her long locks. After a while, exhaustion settled over her and she fell asleep.

My own tears poured out of the corners of my eyes and down into my hair. I held Annie against me, feeling the absence of her swollen belly between us. For months I’d watched her body grow and change as our little girl grew inside her womb. I’d watched her belly get bigger and saw the little fists and feet pushing against the skin. I’d noticed the way her breasts became swollen, felt how soft they were and heard the breathy moans from Annie’s lips as I kissed them.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head and felt her squirm against my side. She whimpered softly in her sleep, a tear squeezing out from beneath her dark lashes. I swiped my thumb gently over her cheekbone, carrying the little droplet of saltwater away. My heart ached at the thought of the pain she must have been feeling. It was one thing for me to be sad about the loss of our child. Annie… she had carried that little life inside her for nearly eight months. I would never—ever—be able to understand how that felt for her, no matter how hard I tried.

Quietly, I slipped out of the bed. Before I left the room, I tucked the blankets up around her. I needed a breath of fresh air. I needed to gather myself for just a moment. Annie needed me, and I would be no good to her if I was a mess myself.

I stepped out onto the stone patio and took a deep breath of the cold autumn air. It burned into my lungs. With my hands tucked into my pockets, I looked up at the stars as they glowed in the blackness of the night sky. Less than forty-eight hours before, we had been sitting on that patio together, Annie’s swollen feet in my lap as I massaged them gently. We’d been talking about names for our daughter.

Then suddenly Annie was screaming and there was blood coating the inside of her thighs. Her face was horribly pale. We were at the hospital within ten minutes. Our baby girl was already gone. Her umbilical cord had wrapped around her neck and the placenta had detached. Annie had been inconsolable for the last twenty-four hours.

“Ben!” Annie’s voice screamed from inside the house. I banged my knee against the sliding door as I ran through the kitchen toward our bedroom. My wife was sitting up in the bed, the sheets clutched against her pale lips. Her moss-green eyes were wide and frightened. As soon as she saw me in the doorway, her arms reached out, fingers curling in the air for me, tears pouring down her face.

I practically hurled myself onto the edge of the bed. Barely a second later, Annie barreled into my chest and wailed loud enough to wake the dead. I felt it vibrating in my ribs. My arms went around her, pulling her so close that there wasn’t even a breath between us. I rubbed her back firmly, wiping her hair from her cheeks where it stuck in her sweat. She sobbed, great wracking, body thrashing sobs. Every single one pulled my heart out of my chest and stamped it into the ground.

“Annie, it’s alright. I’m here.” I kissed her forehead and cradled her head in my hand. She wrapped her arms tight around my waist as her wailing tears darkened my shirt.

“I… I thought… thought you’d left… left me…” She whimpered and pressed herself closer to me. My heart ached for her, for the pain she was feeling. For the doubt she felt. I wanted to take it all away. Make it all better.

My palms pressed against either side of her neck, fingers burrowed into her hair and thumbs stroking the column of her throat in soothing motions. I shushed her cries, my lips grazing her cheeks, her nose, and her mouth. “I’m here, my love. I’m not leaving.”

Her eyes locked on mine, and I saw more pain in them than I’d ever seen in a single person. “I’m sorry, Ben,” she sighed, her sobs giving way to short little whimpers. “I’m sorry I’ve done this to you.”

The anguish my wife was feeling nearly tore me in two. I kissed her forehead firmly and held her close. “You haven’t done anything, Annie. This had nothing to do with you.”

“I killed our baby,” she wailed. Her eyes were bright red and bloodshot, her cheeks stained with tears, and her nose was running. Annie wrapped her fingers around my forearms as if the grip would hold her down, keep her safe. “It’s my fault.”

“No, no. It isn’t. You heard what the doctor said, An. Sometimes things like this happen. It isn’t your fault.” My gaze slid from her face to the bottle on the bedside table. The doctor had given her some anti-depressants to help, just until her body’s hormones found their way back to normal. She said depression wasn’t anything unusual in a stillbirth. That Annie would be just fine with some time to heal and to grieve. “I love you, Anthea Cumberbatch. And I don’t blame you one little bit.”

“You don’t hate me?” She sounded like a little girl.

I smiled sadly, letting my forehead rest against hers. Our breath mingled. “There is nothing… absolutely _nothing_ you could ever do to make me hate you, my darling. You are the center of my world. I love you more than anything.”

Annie curled herself into my lap and tucked her head against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight, my hands stroking her arm and the outside of her thigh. My cheek was against the top of her head. We sat in silence, the sound of our breath quiet in the room. Slowly, her chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, her cries quieting.

It was ten minutes later when I realized she was asleep again. I was glad for it. I was glad she was able to rest, to have some respite from the pain she felt. With her held in my arms, I leaned back on the bed and closed my eyes. After a while, I drifted off to sleep as well.

_One year later_

I sat on the edge of the tub with the pregnancy test on the sink in front of me. My legs bounced up and down with nervous energy. The second hands on Benedict’s watch ticked loudly in the silence, counting off the eternity until I’d know. Benedict was downstairs, completely oblivious to the fact that I thought I was pregnant again. I wanted to keep it that way until I knew for sure, just in case I was wrong. Breaking his heart was the last thing I wanted to do after all we’d been through in the past year.

“Annie?” Benedict’s voice came from the other side of the bathroom door, followed by three quick knocks. “Are you okay?”

“Fine! I’ll be out in a minute!” I called, wringing my hands together in my lap. Just a little longer… _five four three two one._

I picked up the test, fingers shaking. My hand flew over my mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to come out.

Without a word, I flung open the bathroom door to see Benedict pacing across our bedroom. “I was worried…” His voice trailed off, slightly sad. I felt his gaze over my face like a caress. A smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “What?”

My feet moved without my permission. In an instant, I had leapt into his arms, my legs tucked around his waist and hands buried in the soft curls at the nape of his neck. My lips found his in a tender kiss as he splayed his fingers over my back.

“I’m pregnant!” I watched a brief flicker of concern dance over his face before it was replaced with pure and utter joy. We would try again. 


	2. When I Kiss Your Lips

_Six months after _When Life Takes a Turn

My body felt heavy and warm, tucked away in that space between waking and dreaming. I knew somewhere in my consciousness that it was Saturday and that time had no meaning on such a day. All I wanted was to turn back over, to slip back into the recesses of sleep. But a feather-light touch on my skin pulled me further into the world of the wakeful.

I could hear Benedict breathing steadily beside me, could even feel it as it puffed gently against my shoulder. A smile spread over my lips as his mouth trailed down the soft skin on the inside of my forearm. His tongue stroked slowly over the crease of my elbow, a spot he knew turned my insides to jelly. My hips swayed against the mattress, lifting slightly. Benedict’s chuckle vibrated my skin, tearing a path straight to my core.

“Mmm… I was wondering how long it would take to wake you up,” he said, kissing his way up my arm to my shoulder. His long eyelashes flicked against my skin. “Good morning.”

My head tilted back, and I felt his lips skim across the base of my throat. His mouth was warm and just beautiful. I let my hand skim up his arm up to the back of his neck. He smiled and licked the hollow of my throat. “Good morning.”

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, his kisses trailing up the side of my neck to my ear and down my jaw. “Look at me.”

Eyelashes fluttering, I looked up to see my husband staring down at me with something beautiful in his eyes. It was dark and light and love and lust and everything and nothing and it made my heart thump in my chest. I let my fingers trail over his cheekbone and down to his chin. His lips pursed against my fingertips, warm and soft against my flesh. I smiled.

Benedict kissed me softly, his body nestled against my side. I felt the length of him against my thigh. A low, fluttering moan worked its way out of my throat as he ground his hips against me slowly, seeking friction. My hand slid between our bodies and wrapped around the cloth covered length of his cock. He bit my bottom lip gently as his breath washed over me in a sensual growl.

I flicked my tongue over his lips as I stroked his cock gently. Panting softly, Benedict kissed down my neck and pushed aside the edge of my silk nightgown with his nose. The fabric rustled against my swollen breasts, scraping over my sensitive nipples as my husband kissed and licked the flesh that was nearly bursting out of the top of my baby-doll nightie. Benedict wrapped his lips around my nipple, the material of my nightgown sticking to my body beneath his mouth.

My body arched up off the bed, a breathy moan rushing out of my mouth. His teeth nipped gently then his tongue swirled around the turgid flesh to soothe it. He licked his tongue across the valley between my breasts on his way to the other. I shivered as his words rolled over my skin. “I love it when you make that sound.”

“Only for you,” I whimpered. Benedict pulled my hand from his cock and put it on the bed beside me. My fingers clutched the sheets as he pushed the end of my nightie up over my belly, his mouth traveling in a slow, meandering path southward. Every puff of his breath against me pushed me further and further toward begging him.

Benedict slid my knickers down my thighs and dropped them over the edge of the bed. His dark curls brushed against my body as he trailed his mouth from my ankle up to my knee. When he started on the other leg, I didn’t think I could hold back anymore. My hips were writhing on the bed and only willpower was keeping them from pumping up.

As his long fingers wiggled between my knees and spread my legs, my husband smirked. “You’re insatiable.” His fingertips danced little patterns on the inside of my thighs. “And you’re so sensitive. Exquisite.”

Benedict pushed my legs apart, gently planted my feet on the mattress, and kissed the spot where my thighs met my hips. Despite myself, my hips rose off the bed and a whimpered plea rushed into the room. “Please…”

“Gladly,” he whispered, his dark head disappearing between my splayed legs. His tongue swept up my slit, probing between the wet folds of my core. His moan vibrated through every cell of my body as he gently slid one long digit inside me. My head thrashed side to side as I ground my body down onto his thrusting finger. I nearly cried when he added a second. His lips latched onto my clit, sucking gently as he flicked the tip of his tongue over and over against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Even though I knew it was a long way away, I had this horrible fear of Benedict… doing exactly what he was doing and my water breaking. Sometimes the thought was enough to turn me off from something we both loved, but that morning the pleasure was just too great. It was wonderful and so strong that I thought I would black out.

The orgasm pounded through me with the force of a herd of elephants. It curled my toes and made my eyes roll back into my head. My mouth fell open and the room filled with the echoes of little grunts and groans coming from the back of my throat. Benedict knelt between my knees as my body contracted and relaxed, slowly floating down from the high.

He crawled back up the bed beside me, kissing my fingers, my hand, my arm, and my shoulder. Benedict nuzzled his nose against my neck and kissed behind my ear. I was coming back to myself when he kicked his pajama pants over the edge of the bed. He whispered softly in my ear.

“Put your back to me, wife.”

I rolled onto my side and felt Benedict’s body behind me. He gently pushed on my thigh, forcing my leg out and bending my knee. He reached over and tucked a pillow beneath my belly. The touch of his hands on my body was almost more than I could bear. My hips rolled back, opening myself to him.

Benedict laughed, darkly, richly, beautifully. His palm pressed against the wet heat of my core. “You’re so very ready, wife. Do you want my cock?”

My hips bucked against his hand. “Please,” I whined, my hand sliding back over his length. “Yes…”

My husband groaned as he slowly pushed his cock inside me. A sigh tripped over my parted lips. Benedict held me tight against his body, one hand weighing my breast as he thrust slowly in and out of me. It was brilliant and somehow very different from every other time we’d made love. Not enough and too much all at once.

Benedict nipped gently at the skin behind my ear. “So tight,” he growled, grunting softly. “Hot. Perfect.” His hips bucked, pumping himself in a little deeper. “Who am I?”

I could barely think. My hand gripped his, pulling it from my breast and guiding it down my belly. Words were locked in some part of my brain that I couldn’t reach. All that passed my lips was a series of groans and sighs.

“Come on, Annie,” he said, biting gently on my earlobe. “Say it, wife. Say it.” Every word from his mouth was paired with a vicious pump of his hips.

“Ben… Ben…” I was so very close. I pushed Benedict’s hand between my legs, my fingers guiding his to my clit. I took my own away, but he didn’t move. Groaning, I cupped my breast and whimpered. “Please… please… please…”

He scraped his teeth along the back of my neck. “Say it. Oh, little wife, if you say it… I’ll make you cum until you can’t see straight.” Benedict rolled his hips, grinding them against my ass. I was panting and bucking my body against his. Oh, God, the ache was so wonderful. “Now. Say. It.” One thrust after another, pushing me up, higher and higher. “Who. Am. I.”

“My…” I couldn’t breathe. I needed to scream. “Husband… my husband… my husband…”

Benedict pressed his fingers hard against my clit and rubbed furiously. I felt it, rushing through my entire being, every nerve and muscle firing, clenching, throbbing, aching so wonderfully. The orgasm clamped my body tight around Benedict’s invading cock, gripping him as he gave one shallow thrust after another.

“Mine. My wife,” he hissed as he rode through my orgasm, chasing his own release. “My wife. Every. Inch. _Mine_.”

He licked my name onto my skin as he came, spilling himself inside me. My body throbbed and felt absolutely brilliant. Benedict sighed softly and kissed my shoulder, smiling.

“What was that?” I panted, slowly floating down from the bright lights flashing in front of my eyes.

I felt Benedict chuckle. “Primal instinct.”

I turned around in his arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. My belly was firm between us, our little baby pushing and kicking. Benedict smiled against my mouth. “Say it again. One more time, please,” I whispered.

“_Mine,_” he growled playfully. “My wife.”

“Yours. Forever.”


	3. When I Hear You Speak

_Almost two years after _When I Kiss Your Lips

I laughed as I watched Benedict waddling up and down the hallway holding our little girl’s hands. Alisha was just over a year old and finally learning how to walk, but she had a funny little quirk about not wanting to walk with anyone but Benedict. I was surprised that he didn’t have a permanent bow in his back from having to bend over to hold her up. She giggled and stamped her little feet on the carpet as she led her father on one track after another.

With the video camera in my hand, I walked backwards in front of them. “Look here, Lissie girl, look at Mummy!”

“Look at Mummy, Liss,” Benedict said, craning his neck to look up in the camera. He flashed his wide, breathtaking grin at me. After nearly six years of marriage, Benedict could still make my heart race in my chest. He could still make me feel like schoolgirl in love for the first time. “C’mon, look at your gorgeous Mummy!”

Alisha, who we had dubbed Lissie the second she came into the world, chose that moment to turn her vibrant sunlight-on-water eyes on the camera. She grinned and wobbled on the tips of her toes. Benedict supported her weight as she swayed. Eventually, he picked her up, her hands wrapped tight around his fingers.

“Don’t do that!” I shouted, the camera catching more of the floor than of my daughter. “You’ll hurt her arms!”

“She’s fine,” Benedict chuckled, bouncing her up and down a few times before settling her back on her feet. “Look at her. Perfect.”

To my horror, Benedict slowly peeled his daughter’s fingers from around his and took a tiny step away from her. Lissie’s knees wobbled and her eyes went big and round. I took a step forward, afraid she was about to slam into the floor. Benedict kept his hand against her back, ready to snatch her up by her jumper if she fell. He gave me a look he’d perfected since our daughter started to crawl.

I had come to know it as the Mummy-needs-to-chill-the-fuck-out look.

“Camera,” he chided, reminding me that I was supposed to be documenting the momentous occasion of our baby girl’s first steps.

I focused on Lissie as she wobbled, leaning back a little into her father’s hand. Still clutching the camera, I knelt down in front of her and held out one hand, wiggling my fingers to beckon her over.

“Come on, baby. Walk to Mummy.”

Benedict gave her a tiny push forward and she staggered, holding both arms out toward me. My eyes were on my baby girl as she took her first tottering steps. I could barely see through the tears burning in my eyes. The camera wobbled.

Lissie giggled and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I fell back on my bum, cuddling her close. Benedict was suddenly there, the camera in his hand. “August nineteenth, twenty twenty,” he said, reaching out to tickle Lissie’s cheek. “First steps.”

I held our daughter in my lap and tickled her tummy, making her laugh and pat her hands on my knees. “Such a big girl,” I said, grinning as I kissed the side of her head. “Walking. Soon you’ll be talking, jibber jabbering all over the place and talking your Dad’s ear off. And then there’s school and boys and university and married and kids and oh God, Ben, why am I crying?”

My husband leaned forward and wiped the tears from beneath my eyes. “Because you’ve got her to thirty already. She’s not even two yet, An.”

I stuck my tongue out at him—a highly mature thing for a thirty-eight year old mother to do. Benedict laughed and kissed my forehead. Then he pressed a kiss to Lissie’s wispy brown hair. When he looked at us, something in his my-blue eyes softened. Like everything in the world had dwindled down to me and the little girl I held in my arms.

“Ben?”

His gaze cleared, like he was seeing things for the first time again. “Hmm?”

“What’s going on in that fantastic brain of yours?” I asked, grinning at him.

Benedict scooted closer to me. The camera lay forgotten on the floor beside us. I could only imagine it was pointing at our knees. He tucked a bit of my hair behind my ear, stroking his fingertips down my jaw. His finger and thumb gripped my chin, parting my lips. His gaze flicked to my mouth a fraction of a second before he leaned forward and kissed me.

“I’m thinking,” he murmured, his lips a millimeter away from mine, “how I’d like to get another on you. A boy this time.”

I smiled beneath his mouth. “_Get another on me?_ Are you the bloody King of England?”

“Shut up, woman.” He chuckled, trying very hard not to burst out laughing. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?” I raised an eyebrow before grinning knowingly. “I see. Just because I wanted to watch _The Other Boleyn Girl_ the other night… I’ve got you talking medieval.”

Lissie wiggled her hand up between us, patting her plump little fingers on Benedict’s cheek. She tilted her head to the side. “Da. Da da da da.”

My eyes snapped wide, literally ready to pop out of their sockets. I looked down at Lissie as she kept tapping her hand against her father’s face. She smiled and put the other hand on his other cheek. She pulled herself up to stand in front of me, all the while jabbering the same syllable over and over.

“Da da da da da da.”

Benedict stared down at our daughter, transfixed by the sound she was making. Her first word. Her first word and her first steps all on the same day. The Daddy in Ben was completely overwhelmed by the amazingness of what was happening in front of him.

“Ben, did she just…”

“Shh!” Benedict cupped his hand around the back of Lissie’s head, listening as she kept jabbering on. He wasn’t paying any attention to me anymore. He only had eyes for his little girl.

Scooting back, I grabbed the camera and flipped it around, focusing on Benedict’s face. There was something angelic about it, something euphoric and beautiful. He kissed Lissie’s forehead and laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks in a rush.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Amazingly beautiful.”

_Benedict’s POV_

I thought the happiest moment of my life had been when Annie agreed to go to dinner with me. Then I thought it was when she agreed to marry me. Then I thought it was the first time I felt her slick heat around my cock. Then I thought it was the day we got married. After that, it was the day she told me she was pregnant. The day she told me she was pregnant _again_. Surely it had to have been the day Lissie was born.

No. The happiest moment of my life was just then. Hearing my baby girl say her first words. She held my face between her tiny hands and looked right at me and knew who I was. _Da da._ The absolute best sound in the whole wide world. Hands down.

I could sense Annie not far away, but for the first time since I met her, my mind was on something else. Some_one_ else. Lissie curled in my lap and bit her fingers. I wrapped my arms around her and sighed, almost as if I felt content for the first time.

“Look at Daddy, Lissie,” said Annie’s voice. It sounded as if it came from very far away. I looked down at just the same moment that Lissie looked up. Our matching eyes met and she grinned, patting her gnawed on fingers to my chin.

A light flashed. A shutter snapped.

All was right with the world.


	4. When Secrets Are Kept

_A/N: Remember those cards Ben had from the flowers Tom sent but he threw away? Well…_

_Six years after _When I’m Gone

I wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. The day had been longer than I’d expected. One of my authors had just turned in a manuscript nearly a week after the deadline, and I had to get it edited, polished, and returned within two weeks. I already had three other manuscripts to go through on top of his. And there was the half-finished piece of my own that was always open on my laptop. I never had the time to do anything of my own anymore.

The house was quiet when I came home. Benedict’s car wasn’t in the garage and Lissie’s diaper bag and car seat were gone. I saw the note taped to the mirror by the door, written hurriedly in my husband’s hand. _Gone to get dinner. Be back soon. Love, Ben and Lissie_. There was a feeling of release out of my shoulders. If they were off on an errand, I had enough time to have a bit of a bath and relax before I had to turn into Mummy and wife.

I dropped my bag by the door, kicking it listlessly under the table so Benedict wouldn’t trip over it when he came home. My hands popped the button on my jacket and started on the zipper on the side of my slacks. I wobbled on one leg as I pulled my heels off and tossed them into the closet. My clothes dropped onto the floor as I shrugged them off on my way to the bathroom. All I wanted was to sink into a hot bath and relax.

I turned the water on and let it reach the correct temperature. Then I put the stopper in the tub and sat on the edge as it filled, pouring scented soap into the steaming water. Soon the tub was full enough for me. I dimmed the lights and sank into the water, letting it slosh over my shoulders. I bundled a towel behind my head to support my neck and closed my eyes. Soon, the silence of the house and the warmth of the water drained the tension out of my limbs.

I had no idea how long I stayed in the tub, but my fingers were pruned and the water had grown tepid. I pulled the stopper and stepped out onto the mat, wrapping a thick towel around me. Tucking the ends in, I stood in front of the sink and washed the makeup off my face. The ends of my hair were damp, but I could wait until the next morning to wash it. I was already feeling better.

The bedroom was chilled compared to the steamy heat of the bathroom. I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out a pair of knickers, leggings, and my I AM SHERLOCKED t-shirt. Once I was dressed, I padded through the shadowed house into the sitting room, clicking on lights as needed. I found the remote tucked between the sofa cushions and turned on the television. _Life as We Know It_ was on. I turned the sound low and curled up on the end.

Benedict must have been reading earlier that day while Lissie was napping because a book was spread open spine up on the table. I scowled at no one, remembering all the times I’d begged Benedict to not do that. It bothered me. It always had. Leaning forward, I slipped my fingers beneath the cover to pick it up and close it properly. The second I moved it, several pieces of paper fluttered to the table top.

White envelopes. Handwriting on the cover in heavy black ink. My stomach churned as I recognized the looping scribble. On automatic, my fingers moved to pry open the flaps. But I found them already open. The little cardstock rectangle slid smoothly out of the envelope, evidence it had been taken out and put back in multiple times.

_Tell me what I have to do to make you love me again. I’ll do anything. Anything for you, Annie. I love you. Tom_

My heart surged into my throat and I felt as if I’d be sick.

_I will give up everything for you. I’ll quit acting. I’ll become a teacher. A taxi driver. Anything to have you mine again. Please. I love you with all my heart. Tom_

I felt the tears rushing over my cheeks. I could barely see straight through the tears and the sadness that was suddenly welling inside me.

_Remember Christmas? The Christmas you told me you loved me? I want a thousand days like that. Annie, please tell me you love me again._ _Tom_

I couldn’t read anymore. I threw the cards onto the table and practically ran to the kitchen in search of some wine. There was a bottle of red wine in the fridge, so I poured a healthy portion into a glass. Before it had even settled, I brought the glass to my lips and let it slip down my throat. I’d barely swallowed before pouring another.

The front door opened. I heard Benedict’s footsteps on the carpet as he dropped his keys onto the side table. The house filled with the scent of Thai and the sound of my husband’s voice. Anger turned my blood to venom. I was suddenly so furious that I couldn’t hold myself in check. Benedict smiled as he came in to the room, swinging a plastic bag of food in one hand and holding Lissie against his chest with the other. Her head was pressed against his shoulder, her my-blue eyes closed as she slept.

“Put her to bed,” I said curtly as he sat the bag on the counter.

“An, is everything—”

“Put. Her. To. Bed.”

The blood drained out of Benedict’s face as he walked out of the room. I heard him settle Lissie into her bed and shut the door behind him. I’d downed my third glass of wine by the time he returned to the kitchen. His gaze slid from the glass in my hand to the bottle on the counter.

“Bad day at work?” He closed the distance between us, reaching out to pull me into his arms like he always did when I came home.

I stepped away, literally ducking under his arms to avoid his touch. “Oh, my day at work was peachy compared to that.” I pointed to the table in the sitting room. Benedict’s eyes went wide as he caught sight of the cards sitting beside his book. “Explain it. Now.”

“Annie, it’s not what you think. I forgot I had them. I just put them in that book and forgot…” Benedict moved closer, forcing me around the center island. He was literally chasing me around our kitchen to get near.

“I asked you to throw them out! Burn them! Not keep them and bloody gloat over how you’d got one up on Tom!” I threw my hands up, sloshing wine over the floor.

“Annie, please. Just take a deep breath. You’re going to scare Lissie. She’s asleep.” He dropped a towel in the floor and moved forward to try to clean up the mess I’d made. “Calm down and let’s talk about it.”

Before I could stop myself, I chucked the glass across the room. Benedict barely had time to duck before it smashed into the cabinet behind him. His eyes went wider still and a blush burned bright on his cheeks. He’d never seen me angry. Not this angry, anyway. My whole being vibrated with it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I spat viciously. “I don’t want your excuses or your lies. I don’t want any of this anymore. I want a divorce, Ben. I want a divorce.”

I found myself an hour later shivering on the trampoline. Tears poured down my face and I had no idea how to stop them. I kept replaying the night over and over in my head. My emotions had gotten so out of control that I’d said things I didn’t mean. I’d gotten drunk. I’d let my deep-seated fears rush out. And Benedict had taken the brunt of it. He’d suffered. He’d been hurt.

Every inch of me was frozen solid. I was still in the clothes I’d had on when Benedict and I had our fight and had only a thin blanket to keep me warm. Rain pelted down around me, soaking me to the skin. From where I sat, I could see the soft glow of the light in our bedroom. I had a horrible fear that Benedict was packing his things. That he had taken me at my word and was planning to leave.

I slid off the trampoline, slipping and falling hard to my knees in the muddy garden. Every muscle jerked and spasmed as the cold seeped into my bones. I sniffled, partly from the cold and partly from the tears cascading over my face. I was terrified of going inside and seeing Benedict with his suitcases. If he left… if he left us because I was stupid and reckless, I didn’t know what I would do.

Mud tracked over the carpet from the bottom of my feet. Water dripped down and pattered to the floor as I rushed through the house. “Ben,” I called softly, unashamed that my voice broke and the tears just kept coming. “Ben, please listen to me.”

Benedict was standing by the window with a photo album in his hands. He flicked through one page at a time, taking long moments to gaze at some of the pictures. I knew the instant his eyes fell on me. His body language changed immediately. He stood straighter, the muscles in his jaw bunching until it had to be horribly painful. His skin was pale.

“Change clothes. You’ll make yourself sick,” he said without feeling. My husband gestured to a pile of clothes on the bed and a set of thick towels lying beside them. He turned and walked away, slamming the bathroom door as he disappeared inside.

I changed on automatic. My chest ached from the tremors and the wrenching sobs coming out of me. I regretted ever opening my mouth. I regretted picking up the book in the first place. Going along for the rest of my life, blissfully ignorant that those cards even still existed in this house was better than what had happened.

As soon as I was dressed, I grabbed the coverlet from the bed and wrapped myself in it. Then I knocked on the bathroom door. “Ben,” I whispered.

Benedict stepped in to the bedroom, but tried his best to keep his distance from me. He watched, stone faced, as I sank to the floor with my back pressed against the bed. “What were you thinking going outside in this? Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”

I couldn’t look at him. I was crying so hard that I could barely breathe. What words did make it past my lips were garbled and hardly intelligible. “So—rry… di… didn’t mean it… Ben… lo—ove you… don’t l—l—leave.”

At last, Benedict looked me in the eyes. He knelt in front of me, sadness burning in his eyes. After what felt like an eternity, he touched his fingertips to my cheek. “Why would you say something like that, Annie? Why on earth would you say something like that if you didn’t mean it deep down? If you hadn’t thought about it?”

I leaned into his touch and felt my heart stop. I _had _thought about it. But not the way he meant. I’d thought about Benedict wanting to divorce me. Especially when he found out what I had been keeping from him for months.

My hands pressed against my stomach, and I felt the rush of memory of how it felt to feel Lissie kicking inside me. We’d been trying for two years to have another baby. We’d tried IVF, everything we could think of short of surrogacy. But nothing had worked.

“I lost another baby,” I whispered. I felt my body recoil into itself, felt the sadness take root in my chest and burrow there. “I lost it months ago. And I was so afraid to tell you. I had such a bad day and then I found those cards and I wondered if you regretted marrying me. If you thought you would have been happier if you’d left me years ago. And it just came out. My deepest fear just ripped out of me.”

Benedict was suddenly there, wrapping me in his arms so that his warmth seeped into my skin. He hugged me close to his chest and tucked my head beneath his chin. “I haven’t regretted a single second with you, Anthea. Not one fraction of an instant. You are everything to me, you and Lissie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I still had those cards. I’m sorry I kept them from you.” He kissed the side of my head and squeezed me tight. “Don’t keep things from me, An. Please. I need you. And I want you to need me, too.”

His shoulders wavered and I knew he was crying, too. He pulled me into his lap and stroked the wet tangles of my hair.

“The baby…”

Benedict shushed me with kisses on my forehead and my cheeks. “It doesn’t matter. Not right now. We’ll talk about it in the morning or this weekend or whenever you are ready. We’ve got Lissie. And I love you both with all my heart.” 


	5. When I See You Smile

_One Year after _When Secrets Are Kept

_Benedict’s POV_

We sat in the waiting room of the adoption services office. Annie and I had talked for the better part of six months about adopting a baby. We both wanted more children and, if we couldn’t have any of our own, we would open our hearts and our home to children who needed someone to love them. Together, we’d gone to visit an adoption service that worked with Children’s Protective Services. If we were going to adopt, we wanted to adopt a child who needed love and support.

Annie was a bundle of nerves beside me. I could see it in the way her fingers tapped against her knees. She had been adamant that we not separate children from each other. If we were going to adopt a baby, she said, we would adopt its siblings too. Our house only had four bedrooms, and we already had Lissie. She was four now and was always asking when she was going to have a brother or sister.

The door behind us opened, and Mrs. Rice came in with a bundle in her arms and a little boy holding on to her hand. She smiled at us, trying to give us some strength. She’d been surprised when we said we wanted to adopt both children rather than just one. It had made the process a little longer, but it was worth it.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cumberbatch,” she said as we stood up. “This little guy is Aydin, and his sister here is Meade. Aydin is five. Meade is ten months.”

Annie’s fingers latched on to my hand for an instant before she stepped forward. She knelt down in front of Aydin and smiled her warm, wonderful smile at him. He flashed her a shy grin and tried to hide behind Mrs. Rice’s leg. My wife held out her hands, palms up. I could see the tears in her eyes as the little boy put his hand in Annie’s.

“Hello, Aydin,” she said. The little boy’s dark brown eyes lit up as Annie pulled him close and pushed his dark black hair from his forehead. “Would you like to go home with us?”

The little boy looked up at Mrs. Rice and back to Annie. “Meade toming too?”

I smiled and crouched down beside my wife. “Absolutely.”

Aydin grinned broadly and nodded. Annie opened her arms and let him step up to her in his own time. He hugged her around the neck and stayed there. I stood up to take Meade from Mrs. Rice’s arms. She gave us an encouraging smile as Annie hefted Aydin onto her hip and we went home.

In the car, Annie kept herself turned sideways in her seat so she could see into the back. Meade had promptly fallen asleep a block from the adoption agency, but Aydin was eagerly watching the world fly by outside the windows. Annie grinned at him and asked him a thousand questions. What he liked to eat. What his favorite color was. What his favorite game was. Anything and everything she could ask, she did.

“An,” I said, trying to hide my smile, “we’ve got the next thirteen years to figure all that stuff out. Let him get used to us first.”

She smacked me on the arm playfully and reached back to tickle Aydin’s leg. I watched him giggle in the back seat.

“Mum’s going to have Lissie up and ready when we get home.” Her smile fell just a little. I could only imagine that she was frightened of how our daughter would take these sudden new additions to the family.

Georgiana Gatiss opened our front door with a flustered smile on her face. I could hear the sounds of Lissie playing in the background. Meade was bundled up in my arms, still slumbering softly from the car ride. Aydin had taken a quick liking to Annie and refused to let go of her. He had his legs wrapped around her waist and clutched her neck for dear life. My mother-in-law stepped aside as we carried our new bundles into the house.

“Lissie,” Annie said softly, stroking her hand over Aydin’s dark hair. She looked to her mother, who pointed into the sitting room. We’d converted one corner of the room to a play area for our daughter when she’d gotten old enough to crawl.

I followed Annie into the room to see Lissie sitting on her play mat with a set of blocks and several cars. She was presently in the process of loading the blocks in the back of a dump truck and hauling them around the room. I smiled and rocked Meade in my arms, watching her little heart-shaped mouth open and close as she yawned. Lissie looked up when we came in and stared at the little boy her mother was carrying.

Aydin looked over at Lissie with his head tucked into Annie’s neck. He lifted his little fingers and waved at my daughter. Annie and I came closer to where Lissie was playing. “Aydin and Meade are going to come live with us. Would you like that, Lissie?”

She looked at Aydin and then at the bundle in my arms. She pushed herself up to her feet and toddled over, her hand pressed against my knee. My daughter raised her hand and clenched her fist. Her universal sign for _let me see_. “Baby,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Smoothly, I sat down on the floor in front of Lissie and pulled the blanket gently away from Meade’s cheek. Lissie stood as close to me as she could and peered into the bundle tucked into the crook of my arm. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Meade’s forehead.

“My baby,” she said with a nod. Then she walked over to Annie and tugged on the end of Aydin’s pants. “Come play.”

Annie rubbed Aydin’s back and raised her eyebrow. “Would you like to play?”

For a second, he was uncertain. His arms tightened around my wife’s neck. Then he unlocked his grip on Annie and wiggled to the ground. Aydin settled onto the play mat with Lissie.

Later that night, Annie and I lay in bed both exhausted from a long day. Meade had colic and spent half her awake time crying. Lissie, not used to the sound of a crying baby, got frustrated and threw a tantrum. Aydin alone was quiet and reserved. When he wasn’t playing with Lissie, he curled up in the little stuffed chair in the corner with a picture book.

Annie tucked her head on my shoulder and sighed. “Do you think we can do this?”

I kissed her hair and pulled her a little closer. “I think we’ll be fine. Just an adjustment period. That’s all.”

“Maybe I should… I don’t know, take some time off work. Maybe I should be a stay-at-home mum. Until they get used to being with us.” Annie wrapped her fingers around mine and kissed my neck. If we hadn’t been so tired, that move alone would have woken up my libido.

I felt the tension in my wife’s body as she said the words, and knew it wasn’t an idea that she relished. Annie loved her job. It was as fulfilling for her as being a mother or a wife. Even with two new children in the house, I didn’t know if I could ask her to do that.

“Don’t,” I said firmly, having made the decision before I was conscious of it. “Acting is more flexible. I’ll take a hiatus for a while, stay at home with them. It won’t be too hard on Meade, but Aydin and Lissie need to adjust. It might be easier if I stay with them instead of taking Aydin straight to preschool.”

Annie sat up, propping her weight up with her elbow. I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Ben… you’re wonderful. I love you so much.”

I leaned forward and kissed her mouth softly. Being this close to Annie always sent my heart into a tailspin. Her scent—pomegranates and cherries—it turned my head to something overcome with love and adoration and desire. I would do anything for her. Anything.

“I love you, too, An,” I whispered, snuggling under the covers with my beautiful wife in my arms.


	6. When I Love Everything About You

_Thirteen years after _When I See You Smile

“Mum, Dad, can I talk to you?” Lissie said from the doorway. I looked up at my little girl, the one who wasn’t so little anymore. She was nearly as tall as I was, with long reddish-brown hair that curled at the ends. Her eyes were the same color as Benedict’s, that my-blue that was like sunlight-on-water or melting-mountain-snow. She was a beautiful in a way that I never thought I was.

“Sure, love. Come sit down.” I put down my laptop, making sure I’ve saved the latest draft of my newest novel. I watched as my oldest child walked in to the room, her shoulders slightly hunched, that kicked puppy look on her face. It was the same one that Benedict got when he dreaded telling me something. Like when Aydin broke his leg when he was seven while I was at a conference in Yorkshire.

Lissie took the chair across from where Benedict and I sat on the sofa. She looked back and forth between us, nervousness clear on her face and throughout her entire body. She clenched her fists on her lap and bounced her feet on the floor. My first thought was that she’d failed her A levels or crashed the car we’d bought her for her sixteenth birthday.

Benedict sat beside me, his glasses pushed up on his head. Lissie and I liked to tease him and say he looked like a professor with them on. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s the matter, darling?”

The sound of her father’s voice seemed to ease a bit of her distress. It was a common joke among the family that Lissie and Meade were Daddy’s girls through and through, and that Aydin had become a poster child for being a Mummy’s boy the second he saw me. I had always had more in common with my son than my daughters, who were goofy and dramatic just like Benedict. But I loved them all just the same.

“Do you…” Lissie began. She stopped, took a deep breath, and started again. “Do you guys love me? Like, no matter what?”

I had to admit that the question hurt. My mind scattered back through the seventeen years of her life, wondering when I’d ever given her cause to think I didn’t love her. Had I spent too much time with Aydin? Had I been so concerned about how our adopted children that I’d let my own flesh-and-blood think she wasn’t important to me?

“Of course we do, Liss,” I said, trying to hide the hurt. “We love you with all our hearts.”

Benedict stood up and moved around the coffee table to sit just in front of her. He took her hands in his and squeezed them tight. “You are one of the most important things to me, Lissie girl,” he said sincerely. “There is nothing… _nothing_… you could do or be or say that would make me stop loving you. Or to make your Mum stop loving you.”

Lissie looked at her Dad, into the eyes that were exactly like hers. I went to sit beside my husband and put my hands over his. Together, we sat in front of our little girl and waited until she was ready to speak.

Finally, she opened her mouth and let the words tumble out into the world. She looked horribly terrified at what our reactions would be, but I just felt my heart gushing with love for this person I’d carried for nine months.

“I’m gay.”

Beside me, Benedict tensed up for a moment. The look on his face was clear—he’d expected _I’m pregnant_ or _I’m dropping out of college to go live in Tibet_. He certainly didn’t expect to find out his baby girl was gay. But after an instant, he squeezed her hand and smiled. “Are you happy? Like you’re the real you?”

Lissie smiled and nodded, tears beading on her lashes.

“Then that’s all that matters.” Benedict leaned forward and kissed her cheek, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “As long as you’re happy and you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not, I can get used to this. Just give your old Dad some time, yeah?”

My daughter threw her arms around her father and hugged him tight. “Thanks, Daddy,” she said, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes.

I let the two of them have their moment. It gave me a few minutes to get my thoughts together. She was my little girl, my baby, and I wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. If this was what made her happy, if this was who she really was inside, I would love her just as much now as I did before. This didn’t change anything at all. She was still my daughter—my beautiful, caring, talented, intelligent daughter. It didn’t matter to me who she loved, as long as they loved her like she deserved.

“Mum?” she asked hesitantly. Lissie was looking at me with worry in her eyes. I smiled and took her by the shoulders.

“Baby girl, it doesn’t matter to me. Just be you and I’ll be proud of whatever you do and whoever you love. As long as they are good to you, I’m happy.” I pulled my daughter close and hugged her tight. “I love you no matter what, Lissie. Always and forever.” 


	7. When Things Just Fit

_Thirty years after _When I’m Gone

Benedict and I sat in the back garden of the house we’d lived in for the past thirty years. We’d raised three children together in that house. Aydin was in the second year of his residency at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital in London. Lissie had moved to Surrey and was working with inner city kids. Meade was in graduate school studying women in medieval Britain. She was working on her dissertation about Katherine of Valois. Our children were doing well for themselves.

Aydin had gotten married three years before to a girl who was wonderful. Alison was a year older than my son and already had two children, but she made Aydin happy and they were a wonderful couple. Since then, Alison had given birth to a baby boy they named Timothy Louis, after one of Benedict’s middle names and after her father’s name. Lissie had met a darling woman named Cecily. The two of them lived in a little cottage. Cecily taught sociology at a public college. They were talking about adopting a baby of their own.

My husband smiled, the lines around his eyes growing deeper. His gingery hair had started to go grey the past few years, but I thought it made him look more handsome than ever. He wrapped his fingers around mine. I noticed their slender strength had slowly faded and he sometimes complained of the joints in his right hand aching. Benedict had spent the last five years directing films and television programs. He’d made a few appearances in some things, but nothing like he’d used to do. But he was happy that way.

He’d even directed the film adaptation of my first novel, _When I’m Gone_. He was so very proud when it had been published when I was thirty-nine. He was even more proud when he learned they wanted to make it into a film. Benedict jumped at the chance to be the one to direct it. I got to write the screenplay. Since then, I’d published fifteen novels, three of which made it to the silver screen. I still worked at the publishing house as an editor, although I was lucky enough to be able to pick and choose my clients.

“Grams,” said the little blond-headed boy in front of me. He was six and Aydin’s stepson. But we loved him like he was our true-born grandchild. “What’s that big spot in the garden over there?”

I looked to where he was pointing, far in the corner of the garden by the fence. The grass never did grow very well just there, no matter what Benedict and I did. There were deep ruts in the ground from where the trampoline I’d had for years had once stood. The second Aydin got married, I’d given the contraption to him. We certainly didn’t need it anymore. In its place, Benedict had planted an oak tree there as soon as the trampoline had been carted off.

“That, Will, is where your trampoline used to be. I had it when I was a girl.” I pulled him up in my lap, groaning just a bit at the strain. He pushed his thick hair off his face and grinned. “Yes, it _is _that old.”

My grandson wrinkled his nose and put his head against my shoulder. He looked over at Benedict. “Is it true you used to have black hair, Grandad?”

Benedict laughed and ran his hand through his thinning hair. He hadn’t lost much of it, and he certainly didn’t have a bald spot, but I could tell by looking at it that wasn’t what it used to be. “Yes, Willy. And orange hair. And blond! And there was a time—way back when there was no television and you had to use two tin cans and a string to talk to someone far away—that I didn’t have any at all!”

Will chucked and crawled over into his grandfather’s lap. Over by the big hawthorn tree, Lily sat on a blanket with her dolls having a tea party. The baby, Timothy, was back at home with his mother. Benedict and I loved having our grandchildren over. It made us feel young again, like we did when our children were little. Rushing around, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, doing naps and watching the Wiggles, it brought a lot of things back. It was nice to feel useful again.

“Dad let me watch one of your movies, Grandad.” Will looked up at my husband and scrunched his eyebrows together. “The one where you were trying to blow up the planet. And it had the guy with the pointy ears.”

Benedict looked over at me, his expression clearly showing that he couldn’t figure out what had gotten into Aydin to persuade him to let his six-year-old watch _Star Trek: Into Darkness_. We didn’t let the kids watch it until they were nine and ten. I watched Benedict’s my-blue eyes twinkle with mirth and laughter. He ruffled Will’s hair and grinned.

“And what’d you think?”

I snorted, realizing Benedict was as interested in what his grandchildren thought about his career as he had been with our children.

Will smiled brightly. “Loved it, Grandad. You were so wicked!”

Leaving the two of them together, I stepped off the stone patio and crossed the garden to where Lily was sitting on her blanket. I dropped into the swing seat and watched my brown-haired granddaughter trying to convince her Miss Isabelle doll to share tea with her Bath Time Barbie.

“Having fun, Lily?” I asked, reaching over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She smiled and nodded, dislodging the hair I’d just replaced. “Who have we got to tea this afternoon?”

She picked up one doll after another, introducing each one of her companions in a very formal grown-up voice. There was Miss Isabelle, who was a China doll actually _from_ China, and Barbie, who had been dubbed Duchess Barbie. Besides those two, there was the Princess Katherine doll that I’d bought for her and the Iron Man action figure that was missing his left arm that she’d taken from Will’s broken toys. She called him Sir Tony.

“You’ve got an amazingly noble tea party, my dear. Is the Queen coming?”

Lily grinned, her little four-year-old cheeks rounding out. “She’s already here! You’re the Queen, Grams!”

I laughed and kissed the top of Lily’s head. Her childish giggle filled the garden with sound… sound like the flapping of butterfly wings and wind through the trees. It was absolutely beautiful. She handed me a little plastic tea cup and pretended to pour tea for me.

I took a moment to look around at the family I had in the garden. Although Lily and Will weren’t our blood grandchildren, they were as much a part of my heart as if they were. I loved them dearly and would have done anything for them. And I knew that Benedict felt the same.

We had grown up. We had aged. We had been successful in our careers and raised three beautiful children. There was nothing that we regretted about our lives together. If I died tomorrow, I would consider myself a very blessed woman.


	8. When You Make A Promise

_Fifteen years after the alternate ending of _When I’m Gone

_Tom’s POV_

I sat in my flat with a book open in my lap. It had arrived in the post from Amazon just that morning, but I had already finished most of it. The pages were filled with words that were beautiful and brilliant and breathtaking. The dust jacket was made of smooth, glossy paper with a picture of a lightning struck tower on the front. _All That is Lost_ was written in a swirling script across the top of the cover. At the bottom was the name that meant the world to me. The name that was always in my head and etched on my heart. _Anthea Gatiss._

I had always thought it was interesting that she used her maiden name to publish her novels.

The flat was quiet, only the sounds of me turning the pages and the rain hitting the window could be heard. Outside, the sky was dark and pewter, filled with heavy clouds hanging low in the atmosphere. It was winter, a time when Annie and I would have been talking about Christmas and New Years. That’s how it had been. But we hadn’t spoken in nearly ten years.

Thinking about her was more painful than I would ever have thought. Annie was the great love of my life, the woman who would have made me completely whole. She was, quite literally, **_The Woman_**. Everything. The universe. The stars. The sun and the moon. The whole of the cosmos and the absolute ends of the Earth.

I finished the book in the quiet, feeling every single word of Annie’s burrow deep inside me and find a place inside my heart. Perhaps I’d become obsessed as the years passed, but I saw myself in a lot of her characters. I saw the both of us in every couple she wrote about who never had a chance to be together. Who fate and life kept apart for whatever reason.

Closing the cover, I took a long moment to stare at the photograph on the back flap. Annie was beautiful still, as beautiful as she had been that Christmas night when she had red and green streaks in her brown hair. She was a little older now, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes that crinkled when she smiled. Her hair was shorter and she had a fringe. But her moss-green eyes were still the same ones I’d grown up with. She was exquisite.

My eyes drifted to the author blurb beneath the photograph. _Anthea Gatiss is the author of ten bestselling novels, including _When I’m Gone, _which spent twenty weeks as the #1 book on both the New York Times and Amazon bestseller lists. She is a senior editor at Stafford-Carey Publishing. Anthea lives in London with her husband and their three grown children. Visit her website at [www.antheagatissbooks.co.uk](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.antheagatissbooks.co.uk&t=YzA2NDViNGIzZmIxYzIyMjVhNTUyNTdkYzVlMTRiZTNhNzNiODUxOSxmVjhTVHJjbw%3D%3D&b=t%3AGDBI__kCMsURzDBpNItILQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Flet-me-love-you-loki.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F50649267844%2Fwhen-you-make-a-promise&m=1)._

Even now, so many years later, I was immensely proud of her for everything she’d accomplished. I kept a picture of her in my wallet. A picture of the two of us at Cambridge, our faces squished together as we sat in a pub just round the corner from my student flat. She was beautiful and radiant. She was everything good in my life, everything that I remembered as perfect and pure.

I’d been happy over the past fifteen years. I’d done films with directors and actors I admired. Three years before, I directed my first film. I won an Oscar six years prior for a supporting role. The first thing I’d wanted to do was pick up the phone and call Annie. By then, we hadn’t spoken in nearly four years. It felt strange not having her in my life, but the silence that had stretched between us was a gulf that couldn’t be crossed. I’d gotten a message from Benedict to congratulate me, and he’d said Annie was proud of me. But I never spoke to her. I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

Over the years, I’d dated other women. Each one started off well, but it all fell apart in the long run when I couldn’t get past my overwhelming love for Annie. Because even though she’d let me go, even though she had married another man, I still held her up on the pedestal of my heart. No one could be like her, no one was that brilliant, that beautiful, that much mine. Even when she wasn’t. I didn’t mean to do it, but I held every other woman up to the standard Annie had set. And every single one of them failed. Horribly. Miserably. Completely.

So now, I sat alone in the same flat I’d owned since I was thirty. I was forty-eight now. Never married. There was a woman that I saw from time to time, a woman I cared about and could even say that I loved. But Danielle wasn’t Annie, just as Vanessa hadn’t been. Whatever Danielle and I had, it was a candle flame compared to the bright supernova of what Annie and I could have been. What we _should _have been if I hadn’t been such a fool.

I picked up the closed book and carried it across the room to my overflowing bookshelf. I had everything Annie had written, all of them first editions, all of them priceless to me. They had their own shelf, each novel tucked in chronological order from left to right. At the very end, holding the row in place, was a framed photograph of Annie and I at her brother’s wedding. I’d never forget how beautiful she looked in her blue gown with the flowers in her hair.

The house was quiet, far too quiet for my liking. I suddenly wondered how my flat would be filled with the sounds of life and family. Children running up and down the stairs. Annie’s voice floating in from the kitchen saying dinner was ready. A puppy barking and sniffing at the door, ready to go out for a walk. I’d let myself get frozen in time, and I knew that. I’d allowed myself to stop my life in that moment when Annie had looked at me and said it was well and truly over for us. That I had waited too long.

I remembered when we were thirteen, sitting on the green across from our houses. I remembered burrowing myself in her arms and crying as my family fell apart. She was all I had, everything that mattered. Annie had hugged me tight and promised to never leave me. She’d promised me forever.

Now forever was over. It had faded into the background of the universe, given itself to Benedict and wrapped him in the life I should have had. It wasn’t Annie’s fault she hadn’t kept her promise. I’d made it impossible for her to.

But I could keep mine. The one that was whispered into the cold Christmas air as I watched my sister embrace my best friend on her wedding day. There, in the shadows of the great London Eye when I’d told Annie was off in Guinea, I promised that I would love her until the day I died. I would love her with all my heart.

It was a promise I intended to keep.

Forever.


End file.
